Live Fiction: Current Project

Live Fiction is an online collaborative story that you can read and comment on as we write. It was inevitable that somebody would one day suggest we have a go at some science fiction, so please read on for our lastest offering in this genre…

The end of the world as we know it

The world’s about to end. There’s a star two thousand light years away that’s about to go supernova and emit a gamma ray burst that will wipe out life on earth. Frank Hope works for a government agency, and has wind of this impending catastrophe. He also has a potential solution. A teleportation machine that, were it working, could project people like a torch beam onto one of the earth-like worlds being discovered regularly in the 21st century.

It is expected that 50% of humanity will take the risk. But will it work? Who will be chosen? Where will they be going, and what will happen to those who are left behind?

This is what we came up with in the pub, and Dave has bravely volunteered to take it from here…

Back to top

Posted in Live Fiction | Leave a comment

Telling Angela

Frank met Angela Weiss in a Starbucks merely six months before the forced migration of half of humanity. At the time, he had no idea what the take-up would be (except that he, Frank, would be one of them), and Angela had no notion that a leave-taking would be required. She thought she was merely chatting to an old friend, when her old friend – out of the blue – said that the planet was doomed, but that he had found another one, almost as good. Maybe.

To understand the back-story to this extraordinary revelation, and the beginnings of our civilization, you must imagine a time when teleportation was – if not the stuff of fable – at least applicable only to photons and the occasional atom. And even then, the result of the act – the item coughed from the wormhole, so to speak – would have been viewed as a copy, not the real thing. One commentator, name of Jack Holden, even observed that being dissolved into one’s component atoms might be acutely painful, all for the construction of a doppelganger at the other end. This, of course, is nonsense. There’s no such thing as a copy when the act of copying is perfect. You merely create a second original, which is mighty handy when you’ve destroyed the first. But such thoughts were not in Angela’s head at the time. No one had ever been teleported – let alone half the human race – so, in fact, she was more concerned with the end of the world than flipping out of there. Her exact words were:

“Jesus Christ, Frank. You never do things by half, do you?”

He toyed with the wooden stirrer in the broad saucer beneath his cup. “I’d like you to come with me,” he said.

“Pah!” she replied. Angela, though good company  for occasional nights over the previous ten years, was neither the sentimental nor the credulous kind of girl Frank would like her to be. He’d had problems convincing her of things before, such as that he loved her. Ten years of trying had left him exhausted. For Angela didn’t believe in love, neither did she believe in teleportation nor that the world was going to end. To ask her to suddenly believe in all three simultaneously had been a mistake, Frank would admit, had he ever admitted things about Angela to anyone. So he felt the need for action over words.

“Come back to my place?” he asked. Then, when she looked stern, added: “Not for the usual reason. I’ve got something to show you.”

Back to top

Posted in Live Fiction | Leave a comment

Poor mice

Back at Frank’s flat in North London, Angela sat with a glass of wine and looked on with feigned indifference while he set up a peculiar-looking contraption on the coffee table.

‘It’s no more than a working model, really,’ he muttered, peering into an eyepiece and focusing a lens on a small white dish. ‘Just to demonstrate the principles. I built this a couple of years ago, back when the experiments began.’

He turned to look at her. ‘I didn’t believe it either, you see. I had to prove to myself that it really could be done.’

‘If this is some kind of wind-up, then it’s not very funny, Frank. You did much better when you stuck with the schoolboy pranks. Fake parking tickets. Pretending to be trapped under a road grating. That time you took a mouse into Harrods and let it loose… poor mouse.’

‘It would have only ended up in a laboratory experiment. At least it had a bit of fun. And it was a complete accident really – I wasn’t to know that woman was going to sit on it.’

‘The look on her face was priceless, though.’ Angela giggled, despite herself. ‘ Here, do you want some wine?’

‘I can’t – I’ve got to concentrate.’ Frank tightened a screw and stood up. ‘I need something of yours. Something small – a lock of hair, maybe? Or a nail clipping?’

Angela spread her fingers. ‘You must be joking – I paid a small fortune for this manicure.’

‘Sorry. Hair, then?’

She sniffed. ‘I only went to the hairdresser last week.’ Then she flashed him a smile – the one that made him become less of a rational being – and held out a strand provocatively. ‘Oh, all right then. Just a tiny bit from the side.’

As Frank snipped off a short section from her blonde mane, he found himself wishing that time would stand still. At some point – maybe in a few minutes, maybe later in the evening – Angela was going to understand the truth of what he was trying to tell her. He didn’t want it to happen – didn’t want to see her face when she realised that manicures and hair appointments soon weren’t going to matter anymore.

Frank had known about the supernova for six months now, and had already been through the tough process of psychological adaptation required for facing up to the end of the world. He knew how painful it was – that moment when it first sank in. That it was really going to happen in your own lifetime. That all your hopes and plans for the future had just been a huge waste of time. He didn’t want to witness Angela going through that moment, but then, how could he face leaving her to learn it from the public service announcements like everyone else? Angela deserved better than that.

And also, Frank reminded himself, he could offer her hope. The chance for a place on one of the earlier teleportations. Of course, she wouldn’t believe him at first – and maybe not even when she saw it with her own eyes. That was why he had resurrected this old protoype on the coffee table. It was, if nothing else, a welcome distraction from thinking about how they might all be going to die.

When the lock of hair materialised in the second crucible, Angela gasped.

‘Jesus, Frank!’ Before he could stop her, she picked it up – sniffing it and rubbing it between her fingers. ‘How in God’s name did you do that?’

‘It’s just a demonstration… the real test is whether we can perfect the technique with a living creature.’

Angela stared at him for a few moments. Frank waited, trying not to anticipate her reaction. In truth, he had no idea what it was going to be.

‘Perfect the technique,’ she echoed slowly. ‘That means you’ve already been trying out?’

He nodded. ‘In small, controlled experiments at the laboratory.’

‘And it hasn’t worked yet?’

‘Not quite, but it’s only a matter of time.’

‘Jesus, Frank.’ Angela poured more wine and handed him a glass without asking. ‘So that’s what you do with all those poor mice.’

Back to top

Posted in Live Fiction | Leave a comment

Prototype

“Er, well, not all of ‘em,” he responded sheepishly. “Come with me. I’ll show you.”
Frank led the way down the passage, passed the open bathroom door, and stopped in front of a closed and locked room. Fumbling for a key in his trouser pocket, he released the latch and pushed open the door. Standing aside, Angela was ushered through to a small room lined from floor to ceiling with tanks and cages, each holding various species of livestock. She didn’t know where to look first until Frank opened a tall cupboard, revealing even more cages.
“Angela,” he said with trepidation, “before you look in here, I must warn you the process was still in it’s experimental stage when most of this happened.”
Angela turned and looked, and the automatic retching response was pre-empted, as Frank thrust a waste paper bin under her chin. Swallowing hard to keep the wine down, Angela’s ashen face was stricken with a look of supreme horror.
“What …… have …… you ……gonnan …… done?”
The bottom cage contained a white mouse, or at least what used to be a white mouse. This first little critter was so disfigured, it could barely move about. Both back legs weren’t exactly missing, but having legs sprouting from under it’s neck made forward motion possible only by dragging it’s tail end along the bottom of the cage. Did I say tail? Bulbous, stubby, and devoid of skin, the fat skeletal tail matched the mouse’s body in size.
Scanning up through the cages, Angela saw more results of frank’s horrendous experiments with teleportation. Mutated, deformed, every cage contained something more gruesome than the last.
Her voice quavered as she hissed “How the Hell could you?”
“It had to be done. It’s not exactly vivisection, but what else could I do?”
“Well first off, couldn’t you at least put ‘em out of their misery?”
“Of course I will, but first I needed to see if there were any long term effects.”
“Don’t you think these mmm, side effects, are long term enough? You have to do something, and pretty damn soon as well.”
“I will, I will, but first, see this.” Frank reached into the top cage and withdrew a dappled grey mouse. It sat in the palm of his hand and washed it’s whiskers. “This was the last one to go through.”
“And …?” Angela was incredulous.
“Can’t you see. Not only is it perfectly fine, everything’s intact as far as I’ve been able to tell. But see, it ain’t scared either. It’s calm, tame, friendly even.”
“D’you mean …?”
Yes, I do mean. This lil’ fella has been through the ether. Twice in fact.”
“No! Never! I can’t believe that!”
“Then I’ll just have to show you, won’t I?” With that, Frank ushered Angela back to the coffee table in the lounge. He sat the miniscule rodent in the crucible. It sat up and looked around. “Truth be told, the first time saw it’s tail sprouting from behind it’s left ear, but I sent it back and it came out fine. I tweeked the controls a little, your hair was testament to that. So I believe I’ve sorted it.
Frank flicked a number of switches. The mouse disappeared. Seconds later, something started to materialise in the receiving dish.
Angela’s jaw dropped open.

Back to top

Posted in Live Fiction | Leave a comment

Nosy Neighbours

Magnus Stote scratched contemplatively at the two-day stubble decorating his chin before carefully removing the stethoscope from around his neck.

Something was afoot.

Tuning in, as he called it, was all very well but it wasn’t getting him anywhere. What he needed, he decided, was one of those twee little wormlike surveillance cameras, the sort you inserted into a tiny hole in the wall. The alternative was to simply break in and take a proper look. After all, he had plenty of time on his hands now that those bastards at Computer Gaming Inc had dispensed with his services. Although a handsome separation package wasn’t to be sniffed at, it continued to irk him that his magnum opus would never see the light of day. An asteroid the size of the Isle of Wight hurtling towards Earth, colonisation of a distant planet – surely a nailed on winner for the gaming community worldwide. But, no. Not according to the arseholes who ran CG Inc. He digressed.

It had all started as a spot of recreational voyeurism – sound only, no pictures. But that suited Stote. He much preferred to allow his vivid imagination to run riot against a soundtrack of ‘oohs’, ‘aahs’ and ‘yes, yes, YES’. Viewing the actual deed, he suspected, might well prove a disappointment.

Lately, though, things had got a lot more intriguing, and he wasn’t talking about conjoining – more separating and rejoining, if the business end of the stethoscope was to be believed. Take tonight – working model, experiments, perfecting the technique with a living creature. What on earth was Frank up to?

To add to the mystery, hadn’t he spotted Frank schlepping home, lugging a bale of wood shavings under each arm, courtesy of the local pet shop? Perhaps he’d perfected a way of generating cheap power, a couple of dozen hamsters pedalling away night and day to produce electricity. Or maybe he was moonlighting for a pharmaceutical company, testing out aftershave on a batch of mice.

Speculation was one thing, Stote concluded, but it didn’t provide him with the hard facts his curiosity craved. No, he would wait until Frank left for work the next day and take a gander for himself.

Back to top

Posted in Live Fiction | Leave a comment
  • Share this on social media
    Share |